TO MY RELIEF, THE REPORTERS didn’t follow me to the garden. I drove with one eye on my rearview mirror, watching for anyone who might be trailing me. I even took the precaution of driving a circuitous route, but it didn’t matter—when I pulled in, the parking lot was empty except for Ed’s truck.
When I joined him at the control plot, he hardly spared me a glance before he launched into an update on the plants, the weeds, the bugs and the soil test results. For a solid fifteen minutes, I only had to make grunting noises of affirmation as he spoke. It seemed that Ed remained blissfully unaware of anything going on with me.
I spent two wonderful hours immersed in the soil and plants, forgetting anything that had to do with England, reporters or cute guys who kissed me until I forgot how to breathe. I’d left my phone in the car on purpose; being away from everything was a wonderful respite, and I needed it.
But nothing good lasts forever. After Ed and I walked to the parking area, he climbed into his truck and rattled away. I slid into the driver’s seat of my car and checked my phone.
I had over fifty messages.
“Shit,” I groaned, my voice reverberating in the emptiness of the car. For a dizzy moment, I considered driving far, far away, to some place where no one knew me or could find me. It was tempting, but it was also impossible—and running away was a coward’s escape. I was no coward.
With a deep breath, I began scrolling through messages. The first five were from my mother. Apparently, Honey had filled her in on last week’s spring-the-prince on Kyra dinner, but now that she’d seen photographic evidence, she was gushing and wanted ALL the details. The next six were from my sisters—four from Lisel and two from Bria—demanding an update and accusing me of being “the worst sister in the world” for not sharing my news with them. Then there were two from Honey, asking if I was all right and if I needed any help.
Bless my grandmother. It hadn’t even occurred to me that I could hide out at my grandparents’ house until all of this blew over. They had acres of land and security. I’d be safe there, and no one would bother me. It was definitely a thought to tuck in the back of my mind.
The rest of my messages were from old friends who hadn’t contacted me in years, or acquaintances from both college and grad school. A few came from numbers I didn’t recognize and asked pointedly personal questions that I deleted hastily.
Are you sleeping with Prince Nicholas?
How’s the sex?
Were you a virgin when you met?
“Oh, my God.” I dropped my phone on the passenger seat and closed my eyes, leaning my forehead on the steering wheel. “This is insane.”
My phone buzzed with a new text—this time, it was Shelby.
Check out TMZ. You made their site—and their show.
“Great. Just great.” I groaned again, but I swiped my fingers across the screen and did an internet search until I found the site in question.
Prince Nicholas finds love in the US!
Britain’s Prince Nicholas, cousin of the heir to the throne, has often been known as the playboy of the royal family. But it seems now he’s broadening his horizons and coming across the pond to find love.
This picture was sent to us by a vigilant reader in Coby, Maine—a small town south of Bangor. You can see the lover prince with his American girlfriend at a local restaurant here—and you’ll need an oven mitt to pick up the HEAT of the kiss between these two.
Sources tell us that the woman in the photo is Kyra Duncan, 24, a student at Grant College. Other people at the restaurant with the pair say that they couldn’t keep their hands off each other all evening—and that neither of them were shy about showing the sizzling attraction between them.
Although Prince Nicholas flew back to England today, we’re betting it won’t be long before these two hook up again.
Meanwhile, we reached out to Kyra to get her take on her royal boyfriend. She didn’t have a comment for us. But clearly, she wasn’t dressing for a date today.
Below those words was a picture of me from earlier, standing by my car as I opened my mouth to give my no comment answer. My mouth was opening, the camera had caught my head mid-turn, and I looked horrible.
“Holy shit.” I dropped my head back to the steering wheel. “Holy fucking shit.”
The phone buzzed again, but this time, I was afraid to look at it. When I did peep down at where it rested on my lap, the number on the caller ID was unfamiliar. I hit ignore. Five seconds later, it started again—different number, still unknown.
Picking up the phone, I placed it face-down on the seat next to me, started up my car and drove home.
I’d hoped that the hours I’d spent at the garden would have allowed time for the reporters to grow bored with waiting and leave. But when I turned into the driveway, there was still a knot of strangers holding cameras. True, that group was smaller than it had been—but they were still there.
I picked up my phone and shot Shelby a terse message.
I’m home. Make sure the door is unlocked, please.
The reporters who had lingered clearly were the more tenacious of the bunch, but apparently, they were also slightly less bold. No one crowded my car as I climbed out and made a dash for the back door, although the minute I’d left the safety of the driver’s seat, they all began calling to me.
“Kyra! Are you going to see Prince Nicholas again soon?”
“Kyra! Over here. Do you think you’re going to be the new American princess?”
Well, at least they had my name right this time.
I made it inside and closed the door behind me with a long sigh of relief. Shelby glanced up at me from the kitchen table, where she sat in front of her laptop.
“You okay?” Her voice was sympathetic.
“I guess so. It’s crazy . . . and that’s just the ones who are actually here, in this country. Shelby, you should see the messages on my phone. And hear the voicemails. People are nuts. And why? Because someone took a picture of me with a guy who happens to be part of a famous family in England?”
Shelby cocked an eyebrow at me. “I did a little investigating while you were gone. I saw the picture that set all this off. That wasn’t just a friendly peck, Kyra. The kiss was hot. That’s what people—the press—are responding to.”
I pulled out the chair across from her. “I was an idiot. I didn’t think anyone would care that much. We’re not news. Not really.”
“Hmmm.” My friend shook her head. “Maybe not. But that doesn’t always seem to matter. Like I said, I did some digging and some reading while you were at the garden—”
“Didn’t you have finals you were supposed to be studying for?” I crossed my arms over my chest and gave her my best stare.
She had the good grace to look a tiny bit guilty. “Well, yes. And I will. Eventually. But this was important, too. We need to get ahead of this if we’re going to figure out how to live with people camped outside our house for the foreseeable future.”
“Eh.” I waved my hand. “I don’t think it’s going to last, Shel. Once Nicky and I aren’t seen together again, everyone will lose interest, and the reporters will leave. They’ll have a new story to follow.”
“You might be right,” she conceded. “But it doesn’t hurt to be prepared, right? So I read a bunch of articles about how other people who’ve been in this situation before you have coped.”
I shot her a warning glare. “If the word Kardashian comes out of your mouth, I’m leaving.”
“No, not them.” Shelby rolled her eyes. “Those are people who want the attention. I was talking about those who had to deal with the media because of dating a member of the royal family, since that’s what’s applicable to your situation. Some of it’s changed over the years, because now we have the added pressure of everyone in the world carrying a phone that’s also a camera, and there’s the twist of social media, too. But a few elements stay the same.”
“Lay it on me.” I spread out my hands. “I’m all ears.”
For the next twenty minutes, Shelby did just that, sharing with me the key points of what she’d read about the women—because they were all women, as it happened—who had been linked to members of the royal family in the past.
“It seems to me that the number one rule is not to talk to the press about anything real or important. Like, you could comment on the weather, or say something about what you’re wearing or a TV show, but you shouldn’t ever mention anything about the royal family or your feelings there. One of Prince Charles’ girlfriends did that years ago, and she was cut off cold.”
“I think that’s common sense,” I remarked. “No man wants to read that his girlfriend’s been dishing about him in public.”
“True.” Shelby nodded. “You should try to avoid talking at all with the press, unless it’s absolutely necessary, because they’ve been known to twist things in such a way to make it look like you said something you didn’t. Also, you don’t want anyone to think you love the attention, because then someone might think you’re a Kardashian-type. At the same time, you can’t go all Sean Penn on reporters and punch them. Basically, you’re walking a tightrope between being polite and not being too excited about the media being here.”
I sighed and laid my head on the table. “I’m going to screw this up, Shelby. You know I am. I’m not good at pretending to be someone I’m not.”
“You are not going to screw anything up. You don’t have to be someone else—it’s like when you go to events with Honey and Handsome. You know how to mind your manners there, and you know what they expect of you. This is the same. Just don’t act as though you were raised in a cave.”
“I’ll try my best.” Turning my head, I rested my chin on my hand and regarded my friend. “This might all be a moot point, anyway. Nicky probably will take one look at these pictures from today and never call me again.”
“I doubt it.” Shelby grinned at me. “According to the media, he took aside a bunch of reporters today and told them to go easy on you. He asked them not to run you off before he had a chance to convince you that he’s worth the bother.”
Something deep in my heart melted a little—the part of my being that still hadn’t quite accepted the fact that a man like Nicky might truly be interested in a woman like me.
“There. That look right there.” Shelby pointed at me, her smile victorious. “That’s an expression I’ve never seen on your face ever before. It tells me that this—that Nicky—is more important to you than you realize. That’s why, even if the reporters are annoying and you don’t like them camping outside our house, you’re going to smile and be polite and pleasant. Because if they’re part of the Nicky package, you have to learn to deal with them.”
I shrugged. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Of course, I’m right. I just—” The doorbell rang, interrupting whatever pearl of wisdom Shelby was about to impart. We both frowned at each other before she leaped to her feet.
“You stay here. If it’s one of the reporters, I’ll fend them off.” She hustled toward our front door, calling over her shoulder. “Although they’ve been out there all day now and never knocked or got really close to the house.”
I stayed in the kitchen, but I heard Shelby open the door and have a brief, quiet conversation. When she returned to the kitchen, she was carrying a huge bouquet of flowers and a small brown paper bag and wearing a broad smile.
“What’s that?” I got up and reached for the flowers, but she held them away from me.
“Ah, ah, ah. Keep your hands off. They’re my flowers.” She held up the bag. “And this is my gallon of milk. Both were sent to me by a certain sexy prince, along with a sweet note apologizing for the surprise this morning.” She sighed and clutched the bouquet to her chest. “Forget you. I think I’m in love.”
“Nicky sent you flowers?” I grabbed the small card from her hand and read the note aloud. “Dear Shelby, Please accept these flowers as my way of saying I’m sorry about the reporters camped outside your house this morning. Also, forgive both Kyra and me for keeping the secret—it truly wasn’t her fault. The milk is a gift for both of you~I hope you’ll consider making Ky her waffles, so she’ll have to let me off the hook, too, and not blame me for her lack of breakfast. Looking forward to meeting you soon~Nicholas Windsor”
Shelby opened the refrigerator to stow the milk before she found a vase for the flowers. “I’m telling you, Kyra. He’s a keeper. I have a good feeling about this.”
“Don’t say things like that.” I sat back down at the table. “I’m afraid to believe.”
“You?” Shelby scoffed. “Since when have you been afraid of anything?”
“It’s new. We’re just beginning to get to know each other, and now people are yelling questions to me about whether I want to marry him.” I stretched out my legs and toed off my Converse. “You know when you’ve just started dating a guy, and your family or your friends make a big deal about it?”
Shelby snorted and turned her back to me as she ran water in the glass vase. “I’m very familiar with that. Vivian used to sing the K-I-S-S-I-N-G song every time she found out I was even mildly interested in a boy. It was mortifying.”
“Exactly.” I shook my finger. “Now imagine that on a huge scale, with people you don’t know and have never met—and they’re all singing the K-I-S-S-I-N-G song. Only maybe the guy just wanted that one kiss. Or maybe he wants more, but he wants to take it slow. And now with the expectations of the world in full view, he feels pressured to either run away and leave you alone or to take things up a notch. I don’t like it either way.” I gnawed on the corner of my lip. “I really like Nicky, Shel. I want to have a chance to see where this might go. We have so much in common, and he makes me feel things . . .” I trailed off. “Let’s just say there’s no lack of attraction between us. And he makes me laugh, and when he looks at me, I feel pretty. I feel special. But at the same time, I’m comfortable with him. I can be myself. At least, so far. I’m trying to keep in mind that we haven’t known each other that long.”
“That’s not true. You told me that you spent ten summer vacations with him.”
“I did. But that was then. We knew each other for ten years, and then we didn’t know each other for ten years. In my head, I’m still trying to reconcile the Nicky from before with the Nicky from now. I had a crush on one, and I think I might really like the other.”
Shelby opened a cabinet to take out the waffle iron. “Maybe you should try not to overthink this, Kyra. Let it happen. Take each day as it comes . . . and let’s see where it goes.” She smiled at me as she set a glass bowl on the counter. “For now, forget about the reporters and what may or may not happen. Just relax and be grateful, because thanks to the consideration and kindness of your prince crush, I’m about to make you the most kick-ass waffles you’ve ever eaten.”